See here one man, aged 28 years young. A face that holds the promises of brilliance, exuberance, and the American Dream. These promises were once the Boy Scout badges that made every girl want to be pinned by him, that made every suburbian mother say, "I can't wait until the fine young Pelkus boy grows up to be a lawyer, married to MY daughter." Just imagine good ol' mum laughing it up with suburban Dad and Mr. and Mrs. The Pelkus, Esq., as he rests his feet in front of the fire, smoke lazily curling from his pipe.

Alas, these promises appear as distorted memories through the tumescent sea of cynicism and bitterness in which they are awash, barely visible through the iridescent slick of sardonic self-deprecation which floats on top. But as The Pelkus re-establishes contact with his inner geek, tapping the latent power of his comic collection, his Atari, and his piss-poor history with women, he shall wave his hands and the plague which has settled over him shall be split asunder!

Thank you all for coming over to my place and making a fucking great party happen. All the prerequisites were there: breaking fake instruments, passing out on random pieces of Winnie the Pooh furniture, and having the neighbors yell at you because they just don't understand those damned kids! I'll take credit for turkey burgers and cookies (and let's be honest, Chan was a big part of making all of that happen), but I feel humble, to say the least, in the face of that kind of gratitude.

I got more than my fair share of "thank you"s tonight, and plenty of offers for free drinks - believe me, I will gladly take advantage of all of them - but the truth of the matter is that the party was Destructoid in a microcosm: a community of people came together, connected with each other, and - in the end - made something greater than the sum of its parts. (If you don't believe me, ask Dorian for the pictures that came out of R Place; "straight" men CAN have a good time at an all-male underwear contest, it turns out.) Really, though, I would like to thank each and every individual present tonight, regardless of where you came from or how long you stayed. This party would not have been remotely close to the same without you.

So, once again, thank you all. I'm really looking forward to meeting more editors, too, over the next couple of days (Niero, Hamza, Burch: I'm looking at you), and the rest of the remarkable individuals who make this more than just another place to get your gaming news. Bunny convinced me tonight more than ever that this is more than a blog, and it's more than community; it's a phenomenon.

Remember when I said this was short and sweet? Well, I hope you find it sweet, at least.

See you this weekend, space cowboys.

PS: I shouldn't be looking for any British corpses, right? You all made it out with a heartbeat?

The important stuffWhat it isA very special Destructoid dinner party and pre-funk in Seattle for people too retarded or foreign to show up a little later in the week like normal people. Supermodels are also welcome.

WhenWednesday, September 2nd, 7:00 PM until whenever we feel like hitting the bars/clubs (10 or 11, probably).

WhereSEATTLE, my place, roughly two miles from the convention center, Red Lion, etc. Google "snackpalace seattle" if you need to find address and directions without the above link.

2 - Purchase a lot of alcohol (if you're too young to get booze, buy some Sunny D - NOT THE PURPLE STUFF). Bring this to my house. Give it to me and never ask to see it again. (There's a convenience store around the corner and a liquor store just a few blocks away.)

3 - Purchase a reasonable amount of food to cover for the fact that we're all alcoholics. The house grill will probably be at Burning Man with my roommate, but there'll still be a Viking gas range, two ovens, and a small deep fryer with which to wreak culinary havoc, so feel free to bring all manner of foodstuffs for yourself and others. There's a Trader Joe's a block a way, a fancy organic co-op place two blocks away, and a Safeway about six blocks away. I also plan on doing a little communal cooking and baking, but if you don't bring your own grub, too, you're probably going to end up with half a cookie that fell on the ground and a slightly fuzzy Cheeto. If you're lucky.

Other stuff you should know1 - I have 3 cats. If you're allergic, there's a lovely patch of dead brown grass that you can sit on outside. Don't worry, you can still see all the fun going on inside through the windows!

2 - I've got all the current gen consoles (and a basic Rock Band setup) if you've got games. But if you beat me at any of them, you can go join the allergic kids.

3 - Don't do anything that's going to make me look stupid when the cops inevitably respond to a noise complaint. Well, illegally stupid; I think I'll have the stupid angle covered without any help. In other words, save the underage drinking and pot smoking for expo floor.

Boys! Girls! Politically correct terms for other assorted demographics! My name is Kai AKA The Pelkus, and I have a gaming problem. Given my issue, I find it distressing that there's no Seattle community of Destructoid users to support me in my compulsion. This makes me sad, if only because it means that while the rest of the country is NARPing away, my roommate and I are going slightly stir crazy playing through the Left 4 Dead demo for the millionth time (conservative estimate) while there are other gamers aplenty who could be cursing my name while I "accidentally" pipe bomb them. I know you're out there, whether you're at school (hey alma mater), at work (I'm talking to you, Luke), or just sitting at home doodling between AAA title releases. So let me know if you want an official Destructoid group here in Seattle. Raise your voices and let's represent in true Destructoid fashion: shamelessly!*

* Read that as you will, but I, for one, am now finding that owning no pants is just as liberating as it sounds.